"Yet, pleas'd, he quits his native land,
"By faith in the Divine command.
"God bade him go; and he, content,
"Went forth, not knowing where he went;
"He trusted in the promise made,
"And, undisputing, straight obey'd.
"The Heavenly word he did not doubt,
"But prov'd his Faith by going out."
Jane answer'd, with some little pride
"I've an example on my side;
"And though my tale be somewhat longer,
"I trust you'll find it vastly stronger.
"I'll tell you, Daniel, of a man,
"The holiest since the world began:
"Who now God's favour is receiving,
"For prompt obeying, not believing.
"One only son this man possest,
"In whom his righteous age was blest;
"And more, to mark the grace of Heaven,
"This son by miracle was given;
"And from this child the word Divine
"Had promis'd an illustrious line.
"When lo! at once a voice he hears,
"Which sounds like thunder in his ears, Go sacrifice thy son!
"This moment, Lord, it shall be done.
"He goes, and instantly prepares,
"To slay this child of many prayers.
"Now here you see the grand expedience,
"Of Works, of actual sound Obedience,
"This was not Faith, but act and deed,
"The Lord commands - the child shall bleed.
"Thus Abraham acted," Jenny cried; "Thus Abraham trusted," Dan replied. "Abraham," quoth Jane, "why that's my man." "No, Abraham's him I mean,
says Dan: "He stands a monument of Faith;" "No, 'tis for Works the Scripture saith." ""Tis for his faith that I defend him :"
""Tis for obedience I commend him."
Thus he thus she-both warmly feel,
And lose their temper in their zeal ;
Too quick each other's choice to blame,
They did not see each meant the same.
At length, "Good wife," said honest Dan,
"We're talking of the self-same man.
"The works you praise I own, indeed,
"Grow from that faith for which I plead;
“And Abraham, whom for faith I quote,
"For works deserves especial note:
""Tis not enough of faith to talk,
"A man of God with God must walk:
“Our doctrines are at last the same,
"They only differ in the name.
"The faith I fight for, is the root;
"The works you value are the fruit.
"How shall you know my creed's sincere,
"Unless in works my faith appear?
"How shall I know a tree's alive,
"Unless I see it bear and thrive?
“Your works not growing on my root,
"Would prove they were not genuine fruit.
“If faith produce no works, I see,
“That faith is not a living tree.
"Thus faith and works together grow, "No separate life they e'er can know ; "They're soul and body, hand and heart, "What God hath join'd, let no man part."
Youngest Daughter of Dr. HORNE, late Bishop of Norwich.
Written, during a visit at Dr. Kennicott's, Christ Church, Orford, on the blank Leaves of" MOTHER BUNCH'S TALES;" and showing the superiority of these Histories to most others.
To thee, fair creature, SALLY Horne,
And sure a fairer ne'er was born;
A grave Biographer I send,
By NEWBERRY in the church-yard penn'd ;
(Or if to truth my phrase I stinted,
By NEWBERRY in the church-yard printed ;)
Hight Mother Bunch — a worthier sage,
Ne'er fill'd, I ween, th' historic page;
For she, of Kings and Queens can prate,
As fast as patriotic KATE*;
Nor vents like her, her idle spleen,
Merely because 'tis King or Queen.
KATE, who each subject makes a slave,
Would make each potentate a Knave;
Mrs. MACAULAY had recently published her History of England.
Though Britons can the converse prove,
A King who reigns and rules by love.
While Mother Bunch's honest story,
Unaw'd by WHIG, unwarp'd by TORY,
Paints Sovereigns with impartial pen,
Some good, some bad, like other men.
Oh, there are few such books as these,
Which only mean to teach or please;
Read Mother Bunch, then, charming SALLY,
Her writings, with your taste, will tally.
No pride of learning she displays,
Nor reads one word a hundred ways;
To please the young she lays before them
A simple tale, sans variorum:
With notes and margins unperplex'd,
And comments which confuse the text.
No double senses interfere
To puzzle what before was clear;
Here no mistaken dates deceive ye,
Which oft occur from HUME to LIVY:
Her dates, more safe and more sublime,
Seize the broad phrase "Once on a time.”
Then Mother Bunch is no misleader
In citing Authors who precede her;
Unlike our modern wits of note,
Who, purposely, and oft misquote;
Who injure history, or intend it,
As much as KENNICOTT to mend it;
And seek no less the truth to mangle
Than he to clear and disentangle.
These short digressions we apply
Our Author's fame to magnify;
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